1 Accidental Destiny
by piccolina789
Summary: A post-episode series following the entire first season of CSI, starting with the pilot. Read author's note inside. Spoilers for all season one episodes. GSR.
1. 1 Accidental Destiny

**A/N: **So I had this crazy idea. And even though I told myself a hundred times it won't work and I'll probably fail, it won't leave me alone, so I'm going to give it a shot. Here in the US, Spike TV just restarted their repeats of CSI, back on season one. The pilot was on today. I'm going to try and write a post-ep for every episode as they air. Or at least, a story for one episode per day (they usually show three every weekday).

I'm not going to hold myself to an ultimatum, and if life gets too busy, or all of my creativity is just sucked dry to the bone, I won't post, but I'm going to try my hardest to do this little challenge. Just cause I think it might be fun.

Am I crazy?

Spoilers for episode 1x1, Pilot.

* * *

><p>The world came to a screeching halt. The shift had already been jam-packed – between Warrick's scuffle with Brass, Catherine's 428, Nicky's trick roll (solved, by the way) and Holly's first autopsy, I didn't think we could fit any more into one night. In fact, I was rather looking forward to going home, making breakfast and finally completing an unfinished crossword that had been nagging at me all day long. But all that changed with Brass's five words.<p>

"Holly Gribbs has been shot."

The team stood shocked and silent, unsure of what to do, or say, or think, but no sooner had Brass stopped speaking that I was walking away, high speed, toward my office, thoughts racing through my head a mile a minute.

Holly had been shot. According to Brass, she probably wasn't going to make it. Warrick was responsible for her. Warrick left.

Warrick could be in big trouble.

I knew right away that if Internal Affairs got involved, Warrick would be fired and gone by the time I could say "cockroach".

I entered my office and began pacing.

I had to keep IA out of this as much as possible. I needed somebody else, in the CSI division, to investigate what happened to Holly. It couldn't be anyone from the team, most likely couldn't even be anyone from our lab. No, we would have to bring someone in from the outside.

But who could I trust enough to handle this kind of situation with professionalism and ease? I ticked away old colleagues one by one, no one seemed good enough or well-suited for the case. I had to find someone perfect.

And it hit me.

Sara Sidle – the vivacious, level-headed, strong-willed, impossibly young, impossibly pretty CSI that I had met at a forensics conference over a year ago. She had, for some reason, taken an interest in me, and I would be lying if I said I expressed no interest in her. Before the conference ended, we had shared at least a dozen coffees together, talking about everything from decomposing corpses to classic poetry, and I was enamored by her. She confused me, challenged me and excited me all at the same time. I tried to ignore the inckling that I may have had feelings for her that ran deeper than on a professional level, but I told myself, multiple times, in fact, that I was impressed by her mind and her ability to keep up her end of an intellectual conversation. Not something I'd come across in many twenty-something females.

Our last conference coffee concluded with her email handwritten in my folder of notes, my business card in her hand and a wistful smile on her face. We hadn't spoken in person since, but we kept in contact regularly through our e-mails, and I was confident that I knew her well enough to know that she would do a thorough job with Holly's case.

I wouldn't admit to myself that there was a small possibility that I was excited to see her in person again.

I was reaching for the phone, my address book flipped to her page in hand, when Brass knocked on the door.

"Hate to tell you this, but you have a DB," he said. "Jumper."

He passed me the briefing.

"Shift has to go on."

I nodded at him, phone still in hand.

"Aren't you going?"

"I am," I assured him. "I, uh… have to take care of something first."

As I watched Brass's retreating back, I punched the buttons on the phone.

"San Francisco Police Department, Forensics Lab."

"Hi, I'm looking to speak to Sara Sidle," I said, waiting the pause before another voice picked up.

I took a deep breath.

"Sara. It's Gil Grissom. I have a huge favor to ask of you."

Later, looking back on that day and that moment, I realized just how big of a favor it actually was. That phone call not only changed Sara's life, it changed mine.

Big time.

Faster than I could say the word "cockroach".

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: **So it probably wasn't unique or all that exciting, but... let me know what you think?**  
><strong>


	2. 2 Definition of Discovery

**[[UPDATE]] **With the opinions of a couple people, I decided to combine the post-eps into one long, multi-chapter story. I will probably publish one set of post-eps per season (ie this story is for the whole first season). I hope this will work well! **  
><strong>

Day two down!

Spoilers for episode 1x2, Cool Change.

* * *

><p>Epiphany.<p>

At its simplest definition, it's a "sudden realization". But Miriam-Webster or Wikipedia, or whichever source you may use, doesn't describe the complete and utter WHAM that accompanies a sudden epiphany.

The WHAM that stops you in your tracks and makes you think, "Why haven't I realized this all along?", the WHAM that usually makes you want to smack yourself on the forehead and scream, "Duh!".

The epiphany that makes you realize you want what you fear the most.

Watching the car with Holly Gribbs' killer inside pull away from us, I should have been filled with a sense of contentment, or at least satisfaction that justice had been served and the murder of what would have been a very promising CSI didn't go unresolved. Instead, I was filled with anxiety over my epiphany. The one I had to act on, well, _now_.

"Sara," I said, pulling her elbow to tug her away from the others standing close by one another. "Can I take you to breakfast?"

"Sure," she shrugged. "You want to invite your team?"

"No," I answered. "No, I… there's something I want to talk to you about."

She nodded, looking contemplative, and some time later, we were seated face-to-face in a booth with sticky rubber seats in was likely one of the dingiest, yet oddly most satisfying breakfast places in town. A plate of steak and eggs sat untouched before me, but Sara was digging into her whole-wheat oatmeal, a bowl full of grayish-looking mush that I had no idea why she would want to eat.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

I stared at her for a few seconds, watched her take a slow sip from her mug of steaming coffee and contemplated how to ask her – how to explain my epiphany. Eloquence escaped me in the presence of my biggest uncertainty, and I was only able to utter one word.

"Stay."

She blinked at me, once, twice, three times, before raising her cup of coffee to her lips and taking another slow sip.

"What do you –"

"Stay," I repeated. "Here. In Vegas. On my team."

She gaped at me, wide-eyed and shocked, the power of speech obviously betraying her, too.

"Grissom..." she said slowly. "Are you offering me a job?"

"I guess… I guess I am," I answered. "We… well, we have one available."

I don't know if I was expecting her to jump up and down with exuberance while she accepted my offer, or what, but it definitely wasn't this slow contemplation. My insides tugged at me in anxiety.

"But… I have a whole life back in San Francisco," she said. "A career. Friends. I don't know _anybody _here."

"You know me."

Her lips looked like they wanted to smile, but they tugged into a pursed look instead. Sara leaned her back into the booth, stared out the window and looked like a million thoughts were racing through her mind at once. Finally, she looked back at me.

"Why?"

"Why what?" I deadpanned.

"Why me?" she asked. "Why here, why now? Why should I do this?"

My mouth opened to speak immediately, but I shut it before anything could escape. I wanted to tell her I had an epiphany, a sudden realization, that standing there on the sidewalk, with Sara and my team, things just _fit_. My heart had stopped when she walked back into my life a few days ago, and I had been slowly realizing ever since that I was dreading letting her walk right back out of it again. If I were to ever act on something I wanted, I needed to keep her here, now, for me, because I wanted her in my life. I needed her to stay.

"I think you could be very good for the lab," I heard myself say instead. "There's… a lot of opportunities here, we're growing, and… we could use a mind like yours. You're a very gifted CSI, Sara."

This time, she did smile, as it was the closest I'd come to complimenting her during our little brunch. She quickly wiped it off and tried to regain her professional detachment, but I could see it in her eyes – she had already made her decision.

Sure enough, after a few more minutes of gazing at each other – we were very good at communication with absolutely no words or sound at all – she swallowed hard and spoke again.

"I'll stay," she said. "But only under two circumstances."

I nodded at her to go on.

"One – I'm here to stay. If I'm going to do this, I don't want to take a leap of faith. I don't want to burn any bridges in San Francisco, then a few months later, find myself out of a job in Vegas, too."

"Done," I agreed. "We desperately need help on Grave, and I'm sure little twisting of arms will be needed to convince the right people to have you stay, not after the way you've proven yourself already."

She tried to hide the twitch of her grin, but failed. Somewhere deep within me, I felt a stir of glee that my words could make her blush.

"And two," she continued. "We make a habit of this breakfast date. You're the only soul I know in this city, you're not leaving me hanging just because you'll be working with me now."

A promise to see Sara on a regular basis _outside _of work? Done and done. I offered her my hand, and she took it, making the deal officially complete. Aside from the lab directors, of course. Trivial, really.

"Sara Sidle, CSI, welcome to the Las Vegas Crime Lab," I said, shaking her hand.

"Thank you very much, Gilbert Grissom."

"Ah, that's Supervisor Grissom to you," I said, maintaining a straight face.

"Seriously?"

"Nah," I teased, winking at her. "But do keep in mind – I'm your superior now. Sir or Mr. will do just fine."

"Well then, _sir_," Sara teased right back, starting to slide out of the booth. "I'm sure you wouldn't mind taking care of our first breakfast date. Since you are my superior, and all."

I narrowed my eyes at her, but certain that the twinkle in them gave away my faux-annoyance. I chuckled as I reached for the tab.

"I have some things to take care of," she said. "I'll call you in a bit… _sir_."

She turned on her heel and began to walk towards the diner door, before I stopped her.

"Sara," I called.

She turned and looked back at me, surrounded in the business of the breakfast rush.

"Thanks."

In return, she smiled at me, before walking out the door.

A smile.

A word which here means, _I had no idea what I was getting myself into_.


	3. 3 Compliments n Brunch

**[[UPDATE]] **With the opinions of a couple people, I decided to combine the post-eps into one long, multi-chapter story. I will probably publish one set of post-eps per season (ie this story is for the whole first season). I hope this will work well! **  
><strong>

**A/N: **So I need your input. How are these stories working? I've asked a few people, but I want to know your opinion - do you like having each post-ep posted as a separate story? Or would you rather see them all together, posted as separate chapters? Obviously, I've been doing them separately, but I can easily regroup them together, if that's what the majority of people would prefer.

Let me know! On to spoilers for 1x3, Crate n Burial [in Sara's POV] :)

* * *

><p>The Laura Garas case was a significant one for me. And not because it was my first case as an official member of Grissom's Graveyard team, or because finding Laura in the box, seemingly helpless and almost dead, had upset me. It also wasn't because we solved it so quickly and ousted Laura as the accomplice she really was.<p>

It was because, afterwards, Grissom and I went on our first official breakfast date.

Well, the first one _after _that first one where he asked me to stay.

I know I had made him to agree to these little rendezvous' over omelets and coffee, but still, spending time with him alone gave me a stomach full of butterflies.

I knew my presence at the lab and on Grissom's team confused people a little bit. Okay, a lot. Where had I come from? Why had I gotten the job so quickly? Exactly what had I done to prove myself and earn a spot in the number-two lab in the country? I heard the whispers, and I'd only been there about a week.

As for Grissom's team themselves, I knew Warrick was less than thrilled. The nosy friend of a friend who had tried her darndest to get him fired was here to stay. Hooray.

Catherine was harder to read. We'd had sparks on our first meeting, and though I'd like to think I'd proven myself a more than capable CSI on both Holly's and Laura's cases, her words in the break room about chipping in for a gift for her daughter stung me. Whether she was prejudging me based on things she'd heard or was hard-set on not liking me, I wasn't sure if we'd ever see eye-to-eye. At the very least, it seemed like we'd be able to maintain a level of somewhat professionalism regarding work-related matters.

Brass didn't seem to have any immediate problems with me, but it seemed like the only member of the team who could tolerate me for more than ten minutes was Nick. And though he was working Grissom's jumper when I was working Holly's case, we fell into a very easy, relaxed camaraderie working the Laura case together. True, he'd teased me about outranking me, and I'd teased right back about being hand-picked for this job, but it was apparently part of our relationship. Nick teased me, and I teased back, and the relaxed, casual nature between us was gratifying.

I had been beginning to think no one would like me here. Like I said, I'd heard the whispers.

Case in point, I'd walked to Grissom's office in the middle of the Laura case to follow-up on some evidence. Catherine was inside. Though neither had seen me approach, and I'd turned away to come back later, I stopped short when I heard my name.

"So… what's up with you and Sara?"

There was more than a hint of accusation in her voice, and it made my blood boil a little. Grissom, however, answered in a voice as calm as could be.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean… who is she?" Catherine continued. "She shows up out of nowhere –"

"… From San Francisco…"

"… investigating the death of someone she never even knew, and all of a sudden, she's here to stay," Catherine barged on. "Now, I know you, and I know how careful you are about selecting the right people to populate your precious lab. I figured, there has to be _some_ story to her."

Though I couldn't see, I knew Grissom had shrugged.

"We met at a seminar," he said simply. "She impressed me."

"Impressed you," Catherine repeated doubtfully. "And… that's all."

"That's all," Grissom said lightly. "She was one of my students, and it was easy to see she had a brilliant mind and a knack for forensics. I knew she could handle the Holly case, and she did, so I offered her to stay."

I wanted to be just a little indignant that he didn't push it more, didn't mention the spark that had passed between our eyes at the conference and the unexplainable magnetic attraction that somehow existed between the two of us, the reasons _I _thought he'd asked me here, but I got hung up on his compliments. The simplest of compliments from Grissom could make my heart feel ten times larger. He could tell me my shoelaces looked nice, and I'd beam for the rest of the day.

Maybe that's why I worked so hard on the Laura case. I wanted Grissom to see me as an equal, a colleague, but I also wanted him to compliment me.

_"I'm still trying to be your star pupil." _

_ "That was a seminar, Sara, this is real." _

The compliments didn't come then, but they did at breakfast.

We'd talked a little about the case, a little about me settling in, then as our plates arrived, ate in companionable silence.

"You did a very nice job on the case, Sara."

I swallowed hard on my bite of toast and lifted my gaze to meet his baby blues. That had come out of nowhere.

"T-thanks."

Yeah, I'm a smooth talker.

"I'm, uh, I'm really glad I asked you to stay."

I stare into his eyes a few moments longer. Now, I've known the man for over a year, well-enough to know that he doesn't dish out compliments on a regular basis. Yet, he'd handed me two in the last thirty seconds. The last of which might as well been, _you're the most beautiful woman I know and I want you, _for how fast it made my heart flutter.

"I am too."

A woman of many words.

Grissom worked on his eggs for a little while, but it wasn't long before he spoke again.

"Sara, what I said earlier, about this case not being a seminar, I wasn't trying to belittle you, or your observations," he said carefully.

"I know," I replied.

"I just… what you said… about being my star pupil, well, you don't have to try and impress me any more," he continued. "You're on my team now. _We're_ a team now."

You could have knocked me over with a whisper.

"I – okay. I'll just be… me."

I was lying to his face, I knew I'd probably never stop working to impress him whether intentionally or subconsciously, but he seemed to buy it.

"Good. That's how I like you most."

I grinned at him, and he grinned at me, and we both returned to eating our breakfast.

"What do you think of the team?" he asked as we polished our plates.

"Well," I said thoughtfully. "Catherine's… a firecracker. She doesn't take no for an answer, which is definitely my kind of girl. Nick's a really nice guy, and even though we're very different, we work well together. And Warrick…"

"He'll warm up to you," Grissom said when I tailed off. "Just give him time."

"Who said I'd warmed up to him?"

The waitress came by with the bill, and I snatched it from under Grissom's reaching fingers.

"I got it," I told him. "You got the last one."

"Thanks, Sara."

As I tucked some cash by the receipt, I asked another question, shyly.

"What, um… what do they think of me?"

Grissom studied me for a few moments before answering.

"We haven't really talked about it much."

Now he was the one lying straight to my face, and unlike him, I wasn't buying it.

"They must have said _something_."

"Why is it so important to you?"

"It's not," I lied as I swirled the remains of my orange juice around in the glass. "I just… well, I want to know whether I'm going to fit in here."

"Honestly, Warrick's not really sure how he feels about you yet," Grissom said, resigned. "But you two have more in common than you realize. You just have to earn each other's respect first."

I nod, grateful for his honesty.

"Catherine… will never admit it, but she probably feels threatened by you," he continued. "She's used to being the only woman on the team, and I think she feels like she worked her ass off for her spot, while you got handed yours."

"But I didn't, I –"

"I know you didn't," Grissom said softly, actually reaching out to give my hand a reassuring squeeze. "I thought you wanted to know, truthfully."

"I do."

"Nicky likes you," he said. "Of that I'm sure. He's never one to judge, but he's also seen you in the field, and he told me he was impressed."

"He said that?"

Grissom grinned.

"You'll fit in just fine here, Sara," he said. "The others will come around. And you'll get along better with them too, I promise."

He drained the last of his ice water and reached for the cell phone that was sitting beside him.

"Thanks for breakfast, Sara," he said. "I'll see you tonight."

No sooner had he walked away that my own cell phone, still in my purse, signaled a call.

"Sara."

"Hey, it's Nick."

"You call girls for dates this fast?" I joked. I'd only given him my number a few hours ago. "You know we like hard to get sometimes."

"Ha ha," Nick teased back. "Rumor has it, you have no furniture for that new apartment of yours. I helped all of my sisters move into their apartments… fancy some couch shopping?"

"I'd love to," I laughed.

"South MLK Boulevard, twenty minutes."

I laughed again as Nick hung up.

Maybe I'd fit in just fine here.

And honestly, as long as Grissom was around, I'd be more than okay.


	4. 4 What happened?

**A/N: **HOKAY. SO. A lot of people seemed to prefer one big story, with each post-episode as a different chapter. I combined them, so updates will appear under the story name "Accidental Destiny" from now on. I know a lot of you added it to your story alert list when I first posted it, so hopefully this'll keep things better organized.

Assuming, knock on wood, that I keep this up for more than one season, I'm going to take Hithui's suggestion and do one story per season. So Accidental Destiny will be all season one. The next story, all season two. Etc. Hope that makes sense.

To make up for confusing you, I'm posting another chapter today. Don't get too excited, it's not that long. But hopefully you guys will enjoy it as much as you've seem to enjoy the last few. I'm having fun, I hope you are too :)

Spoilers for this one are 1x6 "Who are You?" (I know, I skipped 1x4 and 1x5, but I can't post on EVERY episode. I do have to, you know, like, work and leave the house and stuff.)

* * *

><p>"What the hell is going on around here, man?"<p>

I take a long sip of beer before shrugging.

"Got me."

Warrick stared at me hard in the eyes.

"I heard what happened at your scene," he said. "You alright?"

"Yeah," I answered. "It was nothing."

"I've never had a gun pointed at me," Warrick continued. "But I can imagine it can get you pretty shook up. You sure you're alright?"

I stare at the label on my bottle for a little while, and as I do, the noise in the bar starts to drown out, and suddenly, it's just me and a friend, catching a beer after work. A bit of normalcy.

"I'm okay now," I admit softly. "But you were right – she shook me up pretty good."

"Well, no one saw that coming," Warrick said rightly. "I'm glad you're okay."

I nodded my thanks and we both took a few more sips of our drinks.

"I heard what happened between you and Brass," I said to change the subject. "I understand why Tyner would be pissed at you, but what went down there?"

"Bah," Warrick said, gulping his beer and waving my comment away like an errant fly. "Brass still has a pole up his ass about his demotion to homicide. For some reason, he's decided to take it all out on me."

"That sucks."

"Whatever, man," he continued. "I take full blame for… for Holly. I did. I still do. But it's like I've got a flaming target on my back. I mean, Sara worked this case as much as I did, and did she get harsh words? None."

"What do you think of her, by the way?" I asked, curious to compare Warrick's impressions with mine.

"She's a stubborn pain in the ass," he answered. "But she knows her stuff. It's like having another Catherine… except with brown hair and long legs."

"Might you have the hots for her, Warrick Brown?" I teased him.

Warrick guffawed in response.

"Yeah, she's so my type," he said sarcastically. "I'd have her more pegged for you."

"Sara?" I repeated confoundedly.

"Come on Nicky, tall, brown eyes, big… brain," he taunted. "She's perfect for you."

"Hey, now, I like Sara, but she's…"

"She's what?"

"Well, I don't know," I stuttered. "She's Grissom's friend. I mean, he brought her here. She's kinda… off limits."

Warrick's eyes alighted with remembrance.

"Speaking of Grissom's girl," he began. "I hear some hot blonde forensic artist spent some quality time with him on your case."

"Teri Miller," I answered. "I only saw her on her way out…"

"And?"

"The idea of Grissom dating is just… _weird_," I said, throwing out the last comment like it was a sticky substance I wanted to get off my tongue as soon as possible. "But I guess… if he did go for someone, it'd be someone like her. I mean, she's a genius at what she does. He seemed impressed."

"I guess love's in the air," Warrick commented. "Catherine was acting weird about the whole Eddie thing… I guess she was supposed to pass his case off to me, and never did. I didn't even know about it, but I tried covering for her."

"Man, she could get her ass in big trouble if the wrong people found out about that," I said.

"I know," Warrick said gravely. "She's lucky she wasn't fired."

"Gun to my head, you fighting with a cop in the hallway, Catherine's investigating Eddie and Grissom's got a forensic love interest," I said, ticking each of the events of the day off on my fingers.

Warrick shook his head and drained the rest of his beer, putting the empty bottle on the bar.

"You know something's wrong when the lab's most normal aspect of a shift… is Greg Sanders," he said. "I said it, and I'll repeat it; what the _hell _is going on around here, man?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: **I know, I'm being obnoxious with the notes, but how could I leave out - Happy Birthday, Jorja! **  
><strong>


	5. 5 Heart Beats

**A/N: **So far so good! In my obnoxious amount of notes last chapter, I forgot to thank all of you who have told me you'll be following these stories with me, and for all of the kind words in reviews! You guys rock.

That said, let me know how you feel about this chapter. It's the one I'm most unsure of so far. I didn't want to push things too much too soon, but I feel like at this point, after this case, Sara and Grissom both needed a little of each other.

Spoilers for 1x7, Blood Drops.

* * *

><p>It was a very petty thing that gave me satisfaction that day – finishing the crossword that Ecklie couldn't. After all that had happened, after all the horrors that had been revealed, it had been a puzzle that had brought me relief, albeit temporary.<p>

As soon as I set the pencil down, I was immediately washed back over with the feeling of anxiety, sadness, and most curiously, loneliness. I sat for a few moments, staring down at my completed puzzle, and realized that I didn't know what to do with myself. The Collins case had exhausted me to the extent to which I didn't want to even be around forensics or work-related materials for at least a handful of hours. I had to get away from the lab. This was rare for me.

And yet, I didn't want to be at home, alone. I was usually okay with this, enjoyed it, in fact, but the inhumanity we'd all experienced in the last twenty-four hours, somehow made me crave human interaction, possibly just to reassure myself that kindness and compassion still existed.

That's when my phone rang. I pressed it to my ear without looking at the caller.

"Grissom."

"Hey… it's… it's Sara."

"Sara," I breathed, realizing with a start that her voice was the only one I wanted to hear at the moment. A friend's voice, a compassionate, caring friend was what I needed now. "Are you at home?"

"No," she said. Her voice was shaky. "I'm just finishing up with… with Brenda. Um, where are you?"

"Still at the lab."

"Grissom, I… I don't know if this is out of line at all, but I kinda need to be with someone right now and…"

"Let me pick you up."

I must have arrived at Sara's apartment just seconds after she did, because she was just exiting her car as I placed mine in park. I took a quick once-over of her apartment – I'd yet to be inside it – as she walked towards me and entered on the passenger side.

"Hi," she breathed. "Thanks."

"No problem," I said, giving her an easy smile.

"So… where to?" she asked, leaning back into the seat. "Breakfast?"

"I have something better," I said, excitement betraying me in my voice. "Have you ever been to New York?"

And just like that, we're standing side-by-side in the line to ride the coaster on top of New York, New York. Sara looked nervous, and I wasn't exactly sure how I felt. This was my go-to spot when I had a hard time dealing with something, or couldn't deal with it at all. And the Collins case definitely met one or both of those categories. I was still there to forget – to release. But having Sara there with me made things different. I found myself eager to share this with her. I felt like, besides a few breakfasts, we haven't shared much since I brought her here. I felt a need to keep her close, for reasons most unbeknownst to me.

As we strapped ourselves in, Sara turned to me.

"How did you think of this?" she asked.

She's close, with our heads turned towards each other, only a few inches away, and I can't help but notice how beautiful she looks in the dying sunlight. How it lightens her hair and darkens her freckles and surrounds her in a golden glow. I'm struck by her closeness so much that I nearly forget to answer her.

"I come here to forget."

The coaster geared up, but Sara continued to stare at me.

"I didn't know that about you," she said softly.

The coaster lurched.

"You ready?" I asked her, turned towards her once again, finding softness in her eyes.

"Let's do this."

She grips the handles on either side of her neck and with a flash, the coaster is off, whipping around the tracks, high above the Vegas streets. Sara's neither screaming nor laughing, but in the brief looks I got of her, she has a quiet understanding etched on her face. In that moment, I decided I was happy to bring her here, to share this part of myself with her. I'd ridden this coaster too many times to count the previous week, when a teenager had accidentally killed his best friend while on a high, and though it felt good to do it again, it felt better not to do it alone.

The train lurches back into the platform, and we debarked, surrounded by people and tourists, but also very alone. In the crowed, our eyes met and she says two simple words.

"Thank you."

I smiled at her and gestured for her to follow me. I lead her to the streets below, where I bought her a corndog, and one for myself, and we walked the short block to the Bellagio, leaning against the walls of the quiet fountain that would spark to life later that evening. I didn't have to say a thing before Sara started talking. That was one thing about her, she was never one to pretend she didn't get emotional.

"I left her at foster care," she said flatly before looking up at me. "Brenda. They told me they'd keep me updated, but… I'll never hear from her again."

She sounded like that bothered her, but I had no idea why. She had been furious to be stuck with the little girl – I knew she'd have much preferred staying and working the scene.

"I thought you didn't want to be the babysitter," I said carefully.

She dropped her gaze to the sidewalk and thought for several moments before she spoke.

"I saw a lot of myself in her," she admitted quietly.

"Sara," I began, equally quiet. "She's five."

"You know, I was five once."

Her tone was falsely light, she was trying to lessen the heaviness on the conversation, but it wasn't working. She was still upset.

"I don't know, I guess I just didn't see five-year-old Sara Sidle being shy and timid," I said.

She raised and lowered a shoulder.

"Other things," she said before clearing her throat. "Never mind."

"Sara –"

"No, it's okay," she interrupted me. "I'm… good. That helped."

I could only hope she was telling the truth.

"I'm glad," I said softly.

I tilted my head in observation of her and she half-smiled at me before my pager interrupted our silence.

"I'm sorry, I have a few things to take care of before next shift starts," I said.

"Yeah, of course," Sara said. "Thanks, uh… thanks again."

"No problem."

I smiled at her before walking away.

"Hey, Grissom?"

And I smiled before I turned back around.

"Have you… ever taken anyone up there?" she asked. "On the ride? With you?"

"No," I answered softly and simply.

"Why'd you take me?"

I looked her up and down and told her the truth.

"Because you needed it," I said, and walked towards my car.

It _was_ the truth.

She had needed it.

And so had I.


	6. 6 Sorrow, Loss and Love

**A/N: **And we're back! I might post again today, for one of the other episodes, but this one was a must.

Spoilers for episode 1x10, Sex, Lies and Larvae.

* * *

><p>When I looked at Kaye Shelton's x-rays, all I could see was my mother.<p>

I was a scientist now, and just a scared little kid back then, but staring at the breaks in the bones and faded, layered bruising, I could hear nothing but the soft _thump_ of my dad's fist colliding with my mom's skin. I could hear the gut-wrenching _crunch _of breaking bones. I could hear her miserable breathing, trying so hard not to break down in front of her children.

I lost my capacity for emotional detachment and professionalism during Kaye's case, I knew that. I couldn't help it. Kaye looked nothing like my mother, but her pain was my mother's pain, her anguish, my mother's anguish. They were one and the same, and I felt more personally responsible for and involved in solving Kaye's murder than I ever had in a case before.

I needed to solve it for her.

I think I freaked Grissom out. He already knew I sometimes had problems with certain cases – he did too, we all did. That was the nature of the job. He caught a glimpse of that when I was dubbed little Brenda's caretaker. But it was nothing like this. I flipped out at the suspect, Kaye's painfully obvious guilty husband. I tried getting ahead of the evidence. I raised my voice at him when I thought he abandoned Kaye… abandoned me.

_Do you want to sleep with me? _

I hadn't meant to be so... in your face... about it. The look on his face was hard to read, but his eyes gave it away. I might as well have slapped him across the face, and he'd have been less surprised.

I guess… the whole case got me wound up. And miraculously, it was Grissom's calm, slow processing of the evidence, something that had initially been so frustrating, that got me through. He _didn't_ give up on Kaye, he didn't abandon me, he stuck it out and solved he puzzle. I like to think he did it for me. That almost meant more to me than sending scumbag Scott to jail. Almost.

After we caught the break in Kaye's case and Scott was arrested, I did something I hadn't done in a long, long time. I went home after work, took a shower, put on a pot of soup, and pulled out the one thing in my entire apartment that contained any evidence of childhood memories. It was a leather-bound photo album, pushed to the back of the bookcase, so that anybody visiting my apartment and checking out my abysmally large book collection wouldn't see it and get curious.

When I was taken to foster care, I was told that I was allowed to take whatever I wanted from my home to come with me. I packed an entire suitcase full of books and completely ignored the multiple framed pictures that held the faces of my brother, my parents and me. I said I was ready to go. The caseworker was surprised, and tried to convince me to take just one picture with me. I didn't want to, but on the way out, I grabbed the photo album that was lying on the living room coffee table, just to shut her up. It stayed collecting dust in either the bottom of my suitcase, or whichever foster home I happened to be in, and I didn't open it until several years later, the day before I left to go to Harvard. I flipped through the pictures unemotionally, knowing that if I lingered just a little, I might have felt something – regret, loss, love, sadness – that I didn't want to feel. I didn't take the album with me to school, I left it with the other items of no value packed in a box that was taken to storage. I hadn't opened it since.

But I opened it that day. I don't really know why. I'd come across cases of battered women before, each had fleetingly reminded me of Mom, but I still hadn't opened the leather pages. But something today was telling me I should.

So I cracked it open, sitting on the couch with a bowl of soup growing cold before me. The pages creaked from years of not being used. My throat tightened as I ran my fingers over the black and white photographs that were extraordinarily deceiving. From the smiling faces in these photographs, we were just like any other family. It was the untaken images of blood and bruises and hiding under the bed that what was what my family was really about.

But here, in these pages, there was a smiling six-year-old me, on a beach in California, wearing a bright orange swimming suit (though you couldn't tell from the grainy 1970s film) underneath a t-shirt that was two sizes too big. Even then, my legs were skinny and pale and abnormally long for a kid my age. My hair was dark and messy, and the sun had produced a patch of freckles on each cheek.

Next to me, holding a plastic blue bucket in one hand and a matching plastic shovel in the other, was my older brother. We hardly looked a thing alike, he had blonde hair and tanned skin, and though he wasn't chubby, he had plump, round limbs. He was probably almost eleven in this picture, before his growth spurt.

The picture on the page opposite of us was from the same day at the beach. My brother had taken it. My parents were both stretched out in their beach chairs, a book in my mom's hand and a beer in my dad's. Nothing out of the ordinary, but just looking at that brown bottle gave me chills. Even as a child, not really understanding what alcohol was, I knew what it did to my daddy. It turned him from the quiet, kind man who tucked me in at night to the loud, yelling one who hit my mom.

I snapped the book closed without turning any more of the pages. I wasn't doing myself any favors with this. There was no use dwelling in the past, how many times had I told myself that over the years?

I reheated my soup, which by then had turned stone cold, ate it, and shoved the leather album in the very back of my bookcase, on the bottom shelf. I didn't give it another thought as I drifted off to sleep.

Horrible as it was, my past was what got me where I am today. I wouldn't have had the drive to prove myself, I wouldn't have become a crime scene investigator, and I wouldn't have solved murders like the one we'd cracked that day.

That was all there was to it.

No use crying over spilled milk, I'd learned that early on.

Because if you did, you'd get hit, just like Kaye Shelton.


	7. 7 Signs of Secrets

**A/N: **Sorry I missed posting yesterday, I got called into work unexpectedly and it threw off my schedule. Don't they know I have important things going on?

Watching this episode was a nice prelude to the "Two Mrs. Grissoms" repeat that's going to be on CBS tonight. The post-ep is not much, but I thought it was about high time we heard from Catherine.

Spoilers for episode 1x20, Sounds of Silence.

* * *

><p>It had been quite the night.<p>

Five dead, and all because a married man couldn't handle the fact that a twenty-year-old girl was carrying his illegitimate child. I dropped by the lab after shift, and to my surprise, Grissom was there too, the light still on in his office.

I knocked on the door lightly.

"I hear you and Nicky solved the coffee shop murders," he commended. "Nice work, Catherine."

"Thanks," I replied. "And… thanks for getting the paperwork in. Looks like I'll be going to Chicago after all."

He smirked at me and I couldn't help but smile. I started to walk out, but paused just outside the door.

"Hey," I called. "You want to get coffee?"

He stared at me, and after the case I'd just solved, I couldn't blame him. I laughed.

"Or how about just dinner?"

"Good idea."

We went to a place several blocks away, and all the while, I was debating internally whether to mention the case he, Sara and Warrick had solved. Word around the lab was that things had gotten a little touchy, and apparently, Grissom signed. I threw timidity out the window and went for the gusto.

"So rumor has it you sign," I said bluntly.

He studied me in the way he always does, head quirked to the side slightly and brow furrowed.

"Yes."

I waited for him to continue, but he just sat, eating his fillet in perfect happy silence.

"Are you… going to elaborate on that?"

He sighed and I realized that Sara, Warrick, or both of them probably tried to pry this out of him too. Oops.

"Why is everyone so concerned about this?" he asked. "Matthew from day shift speaks six languages, including Swedish… why doesn't someone go bother him about it?"

"Well, it's… something we didn't know about you," I reasoned. "Call it professional curiosity."

He chewed slowly, studied me some more, and finally relented.

"My mother is deaf."

Well I wasn't expecting that.

"She was the one that taught you?"

"Yes."

I had a million more questions, but I could tell by his short answers that it wasn't a topic that was willingly up for discussion. But to my surprise, he continued.

"Sara and Warrick struggled with that case," he said, saying what lab gossip already told me. "They don't understand that being deaf is not a disability. It's a way of life. My mother raised me to understand that. It was her biggest fear – that I'd grow up thinking there was a normal and an abnormal, and would treat people differently because of it."

"Well, for what it's worth, you're the least judgmental person I know."

He smiled at me, and I relaxed.

"I'm sure my mother would appreciate that."

We ate the rest of our dinner together without another mention of the case. Grissom had pleasantly surprised me, in both the newfound revelations and his willingness to talk about it. If I wanted to push the buttons just a tiny bit more, I'd ask him about what happened between him and Teri Miller when she helped us with yet another case a few months ago. He hadn't mentioned her since she left. But if Grissom kept his fluency in sign language a secret all this time, what else didn't we know about him? He could be romancing a beautiful blonde from right under our noses.

But I knew better than that.

One, talking about romance of any kind with Grissom was strictly off-limits. No exceptions.

And two, I'd always pictured him with someone slightly nerdier than Teri.

But maybe that was just me.


	8. 8 Judgment Day

**A/N: **Just a short one, but something that sets things up for the next episode. I'm going to try to post a follow-up to "The Strip Strangler" later today. (How could I skip that one?)

Spoilers for episode 1x22, Evaluation Day.

* * *

><p>Now that I was back in homicide and Gil had taken my role as leader of the Grave shift, I knew that the evaluations of the CSIs were his job, not mine.<p>

But I couldn't help but make a few mental evaluations myself, for old time's sake. They were once mine, after all.

Nick did a pretty good job proving himself. He had played a hunch. Showed Grissom he was capable of making decisions and following leads by himself. I was proud of him, for taking the initiative and for how far he'd come. I was the one who had hired him, after all.

Warrick took a desperate situation and turned it into hope. He could have let his emotional connection with this kid blind him, but he followed the evidence and proved his innocence without a conflict of interest. Got the kid off the hook. I was proud of him.

Sara – the one CSI that I _didn't _hire. But I didn't hold that against her – I liked the kid. She was headstrong and stubborn, and she proved that to the nines with the gorilla case. If it were me, I would have gotten the gorilla out of there a.s.a.p. without a second glance, but no, she took the time to research where it came from. And buried it herself. You couldn't _help _but like the kid.

So all in all, evaluation day ended, and we were all pretty happy. The actual evaluations were none of my business, but I was certain that everyone had done well. I was proud of all of them, for the way they'd handled themselves. And Grissom seemed pleased. We even all went out for breakfast the next day.

I didn't think anything could muddy our happy waters.

Damn FBI.


	9. 9 The Suave Swearer

**A/N: **So here ends the first series of post-eps. Thanks for all your all your reviews and kind words so far. I'll be starting a new story for the second season soon, possibly tomorrow, so keep a look out for that.

The rating could be raised for this chapter, for language. You have been warned :)

Spoilers for episode 1x23, The Strip Strangler.

* * *

><p>I don't swear often. It's just another one of those things my mother instilled in me while growing up. Gentlemen don't swear. So when a curse word does pass my lips, there's always something that provoked it.<p>

In my line of work, that's not hard to find. Irritable suspects, senseless crimes and injustice could turn even the consummate gentleman into a potty mouth. Most of the time, I hold myself together, but some cases, some suspects, some murders… just get to me.

The Strip Strangler case just happened to be one of those cases. The violence of the crimes, the frustration of the lack of evidence, the meddling presence of the FBI… it was enough to make me scream. But I didn't lose my cool until they unveiled their big stakeout plan. The plan that used my CSI to lure a killer.

As they described to me how they wanted to use Sara as bait, all I could think was, _hell no_.

_Hell no, hell no, HELL no!_

But swearing at the FBI is usually not seen as a good career move. So I kept it to myself. But sitting there, watching Sara stroll up and down the aisles of a grocery store, waiting to be preyed upon, all I could think was, _shit. _

_ Shit, shit, SHIT! _

I wanted to run in there and grab her myself, before any one else could. But Culpepper made me sit there and watch, for torturous seconds, before we burst in and apprehended the guy who was only trying to snag a wallet.

_Shit._

When I was talking to Sid Goggle, alone in his laundry room, all I could think was, _damnit! _

_ Damnit, damnit, DAMNIT!_

When did I think it would be a good idea to talk to a murder suspect by myself, unarmed? I knew better than that. I should have at least told Catherine, so she could cover me. Lucky for me, she knew me probably better than I know myself and she was there, saving my life.

Breakfast with the team after Sid died was a welcome reprieve. Sara and I had fell off our routine of regular breakfast dates – work was just too time-consuming – but it was nice to have all of us together, after a job well done.

It wasn't until I got back to my townhouse afterwards that I was really able to start thinking back on the case, about what had happened. I'd had a close call. But we'd also managed to apprehend the most dangerously knowledgeable killer since Paul Millander.

No, it wasn't the case or the killer that was nagging on my mind. It was the feeling that had cultivated at the pit of my stomach as I watched Sara on screen in the FBI stakeout truck. The feeling of complete helplessness.

I knew when I brought Sara to Vegas that I had some reason to want her here. I just didn't let myself ponder on it too much. I knew I wanted her to be part of my life… I just didn't know how.

But now, after feeling the pure fear that coursed through me when Sara was in danger, I realized what I had probably known all along.

I cared for Sara. Probably a lot more than I should.

_Shit._


End file.
